Red
by Grissomgal71
Summary: Story complete! A horrible incident occurs at a crime scene, leaving Grissom and Sara trapped in a life or death situation. Will they both make it through the ordeal, and how will things change if they do? Hints of GSR.
1. From Above

**Title: Red**

**Author: Grissomgal71**

**Rating: T**

**Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own these characters, but I wish I did. For right now, I'll just keep playing with them in my own little world.**

**A/N: Well, here I am back again! My terrific beta, Grissom, pointed out that it's been a _year_ since I had a new story posted here and I could hardly believe it. Where does the time go? But I'm glad to be back, and I hope you all enjoy this new fic! I know this chapter is quite short, but I have also posted chapter 2. You'll have to wait a couple of days for the next part. Thanks again to Grissom and to DaVinci13 who acted as a 'delta' on this fic (is that what comes after 'beta'?).**

**Chapter 1: From Above**

Grissom and Sara approached the building warily. Their trained eyes automatically scanned the area, searching for anything that seemed out of place.

In front of them was a three-story office building; other, even taller structures flanked it on either side. At least they _seemed_ tall in this residential area, far enough off the Strip that you couldn't even see the spindly expanse of the Stratosphere tower.

Besides the police cruisers and yellow tape behind them, everything looked deserted on this early Sunday morning. Unfortunately for the two exhausted CSIs, crime very rarely took a weekend off. They continued their trek through the empty parking lot, finding no evidence of any recent visitors.

"Where did you say the body was, Grissom?" Sara asked, breaking the studied silence.

"Upstairs, in –"

His reply was abruptly cut off as two shots suddenly exploded through the stillness.

Chaos erupted around Sara as she heard screams and running steps. Someone yelled, "Down! Everybody down!" And a frantic voice she thought might belong to Brass said something about "shots fired" and rattled off their location. She heard the voice again and realized that it was definitely the police captain; this time he was calling to her. "Take cover, Sara!" he instructed, since she didn't seem to be moving on her own.

Her brain working somewhat rationally again, Sara realized that she was crouched down in a tight ball, with her arms instinctively covering her head. She also took notice of the fact that she was pretty much out in the open in the middle of the parking lot. The only real protection was the shelter of the police cars parked behind her.

"Sara!" she heard Brass call again. And she turned her head to see him, also stooped down low, gesturing for her to join him and the other officers. "Back here! Come on!"

Before she could even move, something occurred to her. She twisted in the other direction and saw Grissom crumpled on the ground a few feet away. Her first thought was, _How'd__ he get over there? He was right next to me._ From the way he was laying, she could tell immediately that he'd been hurt, and that dire realization spurred her into action.

"Grissom!" she screamed, rushing to him. He was on his side, facing away from her, and she gently rolled him over.

The first thing she noticed was the blood. It was pouring from a wound on his left thigh, running over and through his fingers, which were clasped desperately around his leg in a futile attempt to stem the flow.

"Oh, God," she breathed.

**To be continued…**


	2. A Lifetime

**A/N: You know I couldn't leave you hanging where chapter 1 ended! So, here's the next installment. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: A Lifetime**

An amazing amount of thoughts flew through Sara's mind in that split second after she had turned Grissom over… _Stop the bleeding, get help, it looks bad, he could bleed out right in front of you, he could die…no! Stop, don't panic, keep him calm, reassure him, he won't die, he _can't_ die…_ She physically shook herself, and only the two most urgent thoughts remained, blaring inside her head: _Get help and stop the bleeding!_

"Brass…" she called, but her throat was dry and her voice came out as a weak croak. Quickly clearing her throat and taking a breath, she tried again, "Brass! Grissom's been hit! We need an ambulance _now_!" The volume of her cry hid most of the shaky timbre of her voice; she was surprised at how normal she had sounded.

Kneeling down, she took off her jacket and wrapped it around Grissom's leg, prying his fingers off and replacing them with her own. Increasing the pressure on the wound, she got her first good look at his face. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed, his features creased in agony; he was already frighteningly pale and dripping with sweat. Sara could hear his labored breathing, even over the hammering of her own heart in her ears.

As she shifted her weight to add more pressure to his leg, he moaned, and the undeniable anguish in the sound brought the prick of tears to Sara's eyes. She was sure the pain was enormous and she felt the absurd need to apologize. "I'm sorry, Grissom," she told him softly. "But I need to slow this bleeding." After a breath, she quickly added, "You're going to be okay, though. You'll be all right." The forced optimism in her tone was obvious, but she had felt the need to say it. _Keep him calm, reassure him,_ her brain reminded her.

She couldn't even be sure that Grissom had heard her, until his shaky whisper fought its way through the distance between them. "Sara?"

"It's me, Gris," she replied, trying to sound confident and failing miserably. "I'm right here, and you're going to be fine. Just lie still."

"It…hurts…" he gasped.

"I know," she answered quietly, her eyes filling and overflowing, tears falling onto Grissom's leg where they were swallowed up by the spreading bloodstain.

"Ambulance is on the way, Sara!" Brass shouted to her.

"Thanks!" She added a silent prayer to hurry it on its way.

"How's he doing?"

She didn't know what to say. She wanted Brass to know how serious things were, but she didn't want to panic Grissom. She was certain that shock and disorientation were setting in, and that Grissom probably wouldn't completely comprehend what she said, but she still chose her words carefully. "He was hit in the thigh—I don't think it went through! He's conscious, but bleeding badly!"

As soon as he heard that, Brass slunk around to the back of one of the police cars, and popped open the trunk. He realized his actions would be visible from the sniper's location, but he felt it was worth the risk. There had been no other shots and Brass half-hoped that the shooter had given up and gone home, even though the cop in him was screaming otherwise. Right now, he knew police officers were fanning out, surrounding the immediate area, and planning their next step in finding the shooter and apprehending him without further casualties.

_Casualties?_ his brain questioned. He hadn't meant to think that. _Injuries_, he corrected. _Without further _injuries. He shivered as he realized he had mentally killed off one of his best friends. _Gil will be fine,_ he told himself. _He's alive… Sara would have told me if he was really bad. And help's on the way._ Already his trained ears were picking up distant sirens, signaling that reinforcements and paramedics were closing in.

Standing up carefully behind the barrier of protection the trunk provided, Brass quickly pulled out rifles, shotguns, Kevlar vests, rope, smoke bombs, and anything else he thought might be useful later. He dumped the equipment onto the ground, making sure to grab the first aid kit—his main reason for looting the supplies—before slamming the trunk closed and sinking back down behind the car again.

He reversed his earlier path, moving low and close to the side of the police car, until he was back as near to Sara and Grissom as he could get while still remaining somewhat covered.

"Any change?" he called, practically yelling even though his words easily carried through the still air.

"Not really!" Sara answered, her voice reaching nearly the same volume as Jim's as nervous energy took control.

"Hey, Gil!" Brass called next. "How are you doing? Still hanging in there, pal?"

Grissom's eyes opened at the sound of his friend's voice. Sara watched as he blinked a few times. His eyes were dull and hazy from the pain, but he still seemed lucid. It appeared to Sara that he had heard Jim, but was taking an awfully long time to process the simple question and formulate a response. She wasn't sure that Grissom would even have the ability or strength to answer.

The injured entomologist took a couple of deep breaths. Then he swallowed and licked his lips, like he was preparing to say something. Sara waited, but no sound came from his throat. She was about to just answer for him, when he finally uttered, "I'm…trying…Jim." Each word was an obvious struggle, and his hoarse voice barely made it over the growing sirens to Jim's ears.

The weakness and agony in his friend's voice sent a shiver of dread down Brass's spine. _He's bad…_ he silently admitted to himself. _Sara wasn't telling the whole story._ He was somewhat angry that she had kept it to herself, but his concern for Grissom overrode every other emotion. "Just hang on, Gil!" he shouted, hoping to offer reassurance. "You hear that?" He paused to let both CSIs hear the sirens—quite loud now and obviously close by. "Help's on the way, buddy! And I've got a first aid kit here!"

Sara's mood brightened a bit at that information. But before she could even say anything, Jim announced, "I'm bringing it over!" and dashed out from behind the car.

Sara barely got out, "Jim, I don't…" before gunshots and chaos erupted again. The succession of bullets effectively blocked Brass's path to Grissom and Sara, and he was forced to run back behind the cars. Sara threw herself on top of Grissom, trying to protect him from the deadly projectiles.

Almost as quickly as it had started, the burst of gunfire stopped again. "Sara!" roared Brass the second the din faded away. "Sara! Are you guys all right?"

As soon as she caught her breath, she called back, "We're okay, I think!" Gingerly, she crawled off Grissom, doing a rapid mental check of her body—she didn't feel any fresh aches or pains. But during the latest barrage, she had lost her grip on Grissom's wounded leg, and she immediately grasped at the area, applying pressure again. She was alarmed at the amount of blood that was still flowing from the ragged hole in his pants; the jacket that she had used as a makeshift bandage was already sodden mess, and she still felt fresh blood oozing from the injury.

As she continued to apply pressure, alarm bells were going off in her head; she knew Grissom's time was running out. A sinking feeling hit her when she realized she could no longer hear the approaching sirens of the paramedics. "Jim, where the hell is that ambulance?" she demanded in frustration and panic. "I can't stop the bleeding!"

"I don't know!" he shouted back. "It should have been here by now!" He tossed the first aid kit he had retrieved in Sara's direction; the plastic case clicked on the asphalt as it came to rest near Sara's hand. "Here! Maybe something in this will help!" Jim suggested. "Or…I don't know, try a tourniquet! Anything! Just keep trying, Sara!"

As Brass's words sank in, Sara heard him grumbling into one of the uniformed cop's radios, demanding to know the status of medical assistance. After contemplating for a few seconds, she took one hand off Grissom's leg, swept the first aid kit next to her, and popped open the clasps. Flipping back the lid, she saw what she was looking for right on top—two rolls of thick gauze.

Snatching the first wad of bandages, she quickly wound it around Grissom's thigh and the soaked remains of her jacket, only releasing the pressure of her other hand when she absolutely had to. She tugged the bandage into place, then reached for the second roll. Wrapping it around the first, she cinched it as tightly as she could, grunting with the effort. Grissom let out a strangled cry of pain, and Sara automatically replied, "I'm sorry, Grissom," in a quiet voice. She hated the whole situation—hated hurting him in order to help him—but at least the sound assured her that he was still with her.

She stared at the white bandages encircling Grissom's leg. "Maybe that'll help," she mumbled, praying that it would. _He's already lost so much blood…_ Keeping her eyes trained on the top layer of gauze, she waited for any evidence of red blossoms of blood blooming through. When nothing happened, a brief burst of relief surged through her. She finally had a second to think, and she turned her attention to Grissom.

"You okay, Gris?" she asked gently. She reached up and ran her hand over his forehead and down the side of his face; his skin was cold and clammy. _Shock…_ she thought with a shiver of concern. "Can you hear me, Gris?" she asked, stroking his face again and moving her fingers through his damp hair.

He let out a low moan and moved his head, and Sara took that as an affirmative response. "Good," she said. "You just hang on and help'll be here soon."

She glanced at his leg—the bandages seemed to be holding—and then at her watch. She stared in disbelief for a second or two. _Could that be right?_ She thought. She shook her wrist and held the watch to her ear in a futile attempt to hear the ticking sound; she knew electric watches didn't tick—it was just an impulsive movement. According to Sara's watch, only ten minutes had passed since the first shots had rung out; but it felt like a lifetime since she had looked over and seen Grissom lying on the ground.

**To be continued…**


	3. Cut Off

**A/N: Here we go with some more! Thank you SO much to those who have reviewed the first two chapters of this fic. I really appreciate your interest and your kind comments. I hope you like what's coming next! Because this one is so short, I also posted chapter four at the same time. Thanks again to my great beta, Grissom! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 3: Cut Off**

Shifting her attention back to Grissom, Sara noticed that she had left smudges of blood on his face where she had touched him. Without thinking, she reached out again, trying to wipe to blood off, but only succeeded in spreading more around.

It was then that she realized just how much blood was all around. She glanced down, almost in surprise, at herself. Blood was _everywhere_—an explosion of red on her hands, arms, clothes, on Grissom and his clothes, and in a growing puddle under his injured leg.

The smell hit her at that moment—the sharp odor of sheared copper. It was a familiar smell, one that she had grown accustomed to at many crime scenes; but now, staring at the sticky redness of the blood, Sara suddenly felt horribly nauseated. _Not just blood, _she thought with a shiver. His_ blood… _She swallowed hard to keep down whatever was in her stomach, closing her eyes briefly to regain control. Then she looked back at Grissom's leg. Blood was slowly starting to seep through the double-layer of bandages, and that propelled Sara back into action.

She lunged for his leg, grabbing the wound with so much pressure that she _knew_ Grissom would cry out in pain. When she heard his answering yelp of agony, she apologized to him yet again, "I'm sorry, Grissom. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I have to do this. Just stay with me." Then she raised her voice, frustration and panic ruling her tone, "Jim, where's that damn ambulance! He's bleeding again! I can't stop this bleeding on my own!"

"It should be here!" Jim shouted back. "They had turned the sirens off to avoid spooking our 'friend' up on the rooftop. ETA is right now!" As he said the words, he looked around, remembering to stay low. When he saw the ambulance pull silently into the lot, he sagged in relief. "Thank God," he mumbled before calling in a loud, clear voice, "Sara! The ambulance is here!"

"Thank God," she said to herself, unknowingly echoing Jim's sentiment. Although she felt weak with relief, she didn't allow her grip on Grissom's wound to lessen.

The ambulance rolled to a stop alongside the other cars; two paramedics hopped out. Taking a cue from the officers, they kept low and made their way to Brass's side.

"What's the situation, sir?" one of them asked quickly. "Any change since your original call?"

"No change. One man down—CSI Gil Grissom. He took a bullet in the leg, and he's bleeding badly. There haven't been any shots in about five minutes, but our guy is still out there somewhere—probably on a nearby rooftop."

"Okay, sir. We'll take care of Mr. Grissom."

"Thanks," Brass replied, meeting the other man's eyes. "And be careful."

"We're trained for this, sir. Don't worry." He turned and ran back to the ambulance. Having been in the military, paramedic Tom McAllister was confident they could extract CSI Grissom safely, but he was worried about his partner. Mary was new and unsure of herself. She'd been nervous on their other calls together, and Tom could only imagine how she was feeling with a crazed sniper on the loose. But he had promised the police captain that they would get his man out in one piece, and that's what he intended to do.

Stepping inside the back of the ambulance, Tom quickly got together what they would need. He opened a panel and pulled out two flak jackets. He secured his and passed the other one to his partner. She slipped it on as she looked around anxiously, sagging under the weight of the protective garment. It was heavier than she had thought, and she hoped she would be able to keep up with her partner and do what needed to be done.

"Ready, Mary?" Tom asked, grabbing one side of the gurney.

Although she looked extremely unsure, she nodded and Tom took that as a sign to move out. "Let's keep the gurney low," he suggested, speaking rapidly. "We can get the victim out quicker. His name is Grissom—Gil Grissom. Let's go!"

On his last word, the two medics ran out into the open toward Grissom and Sara. As soon as they got close, shots rang out. The salvo was faster and much more furious than the others had been. The paramedics covered their heads, but still tried to move toward the CSIs.

Sara again attempted to shield Grissom, but the bullets were coming much nearer this time. The speed and heat of the deadly projectiles whizzing by filled her with mind-numbing panic and she couldn't think.

The paramedics kept trying to advance, but were finally forced to turn back and take cover behind their vehicle. There was a slight pause, and then the shooting started again, the bullets hitting disturbingly close to Sara and Grissom's prone forms.

_Reloading,_ Brass thought, as he watched helplessly. The police captain's gun was instinctively in his hand, even though he realized it was useless. His anger and fear warred with each other; the more heated emotion ultimately won out, Brass's fury growing at the unseen man targeting his two friends. "Move, Sara!" he shouted, trying to do what little he could to help. "Get to cover!"

**To be continued…**


	4. Meager Protection

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 4: Meager Protection**

Again, Brass's voice forced Sara into action. As the gunfire paused briefly once again, she lifted her head and glanced around. She didn't think they could make it behind the cars—most of the shots had been clustered there, effectively cutting off their path to safety. Sara thought that perhaps _she_, alone, could make it, running swiftly and erratically; but there was no way she was leaving Grissom behind, barely conscious and unprotected.

Looking in the other direction, Sara saw what appeared to be a recessed doorway in the side of the building. It wasn't that far away, and Sara was fairly sure it was outside the trajectory of the gunman's bullets. With a little luck, she thought they might be able to make it, although she knew she couldn't do it dragging Grissom. She looked down at him just as the bullets started flying again.

"Grissom!" She raised her voice over the cracks of gunfire shattering the air. "Grissom! Can you hear me?" Bringing a hand up, she cupped his cheek and turned his head toward her. She was smudging even more blood over his skin, but she didn't care. "Open your eyes. Come on, Gris, open your eyes for me," she pleaded. She put her lips right against his ear and, ignoring the involuntary jerks her body made with each gunshot, whispered, "Please open your eyes for me."

His eyes slowly opened, and he blinked a few times, clearing his blurry vision. He remembered where they were and could hear more gunshots, but focused on Sara's face.

"There you are," she said, a small smile escaping despite the direness of their situation. "I knew you were still with me."

"What's…" he began, but she cut him off.

"I'm sorry, Grissom, but I really don't have time to explain," she started quickly. "I need your help with something. I know this will be extremely hard for you, but you've got to try or we're not gonna make it out of here."

He nodded at her, working very hard to keep up his concentration.

"We're under attack, Gris," she told him grimly. "We can't stay here—it's not safe. I've found a place we can go for cover. It's not far, but I can't carry you. I need you to help me." She stared hard into his eyes, letting him absorb the gravity of the situation. "Can you stand?"

He nodded, and she took that as a good sign. "Now, we don't have time to do this slow, Gris," she said apologetically. "When I count to three, you've got to get up. Lean on me—I'll help you as much as I can, but we've got to _move_. Okay?"

He nodded again, and his body visibly tensed as he braced himself for what was coming.

"Ready?" Sara asked. When she got a clear glance from him, she grabbed him under the arm and counted, "One…two…three!"

They rose as one; Sara dragged Grissom to his feet and pulled him as hard as she could across the parking lot. He stumbled and leaned, dragging his injured leg behind, but he did better than Sara had thought he would. Although bullets rained all around them, they made it to the wall unscathed, slamming into the side of the building and falling into a tangled heap in the small recess. Unfortunately, it wasn't a doorway as Sara had assumed; instead it was just a shallow cutout, allowing for the placement of external pipes and meters. It would be a tight and uncomfortable fit, but at least if they stayed in the space, they were just out of the sniper's range.

"Grissom, you okay?" Sara asked breathlessly, trying to rearrange their positions without hurting him.

"I…I don't know," he gasped, equally out of breath. The move had reawakened the pain in his leg, and hot agony seared a path up and down his entire left side. He was lightheaded; his breathing was rapid and shallow, and black dots danced in his vision.

Sara pushed off him as gently as she could so she could see his face. She knew they had hit hard, and that it could only have added to his pain. He was even paler than before, and his chest heaved in erratic spasms as he struggled to breathe normally.

"Grissom?"

Although his eyes were open, he didn't seem to hear her.

"Grissom?" she tried again, louder. Afraid that he was going to pass out on her, she quickly rubbed her hand on her jeans before placing them on either side of his face and turning his head toward her. "Grissom, look at me," she began. "Focus on me—on my face, on my voice." Her tone was firm, but her touch was gentle as she moved a hand from his cheek to brush back the sweat-soaked curls on his forehead. She watched as the haze cleared from his eyes and he really _saw_ her. She couldn't help but give him a small smile of encouragement in return.

"Good," she continued, "now you need to control your breathing or you're going to hyperventilate. I want you to take a deep breath in, hold it, then let it out." She saw that he was slipping away from her again. "Grissom," she implored. She gave his head a little shake. "Grissom! Come on, stay with me."

He seemed to come back, but his eyes remained cloudy blue—dulled by the intense pain. Sara could tell that deep shock was setting in; he looked anguished and confused and so completely…lost that Sara began to cry again.

"Grissom!" she sniffed through her tears. "Come on, Grissom, listen to me." He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she took that as a sign to go on. "Okay, now breathe—slow and deep," she instructed.

He tried to do what she had told him, but he began to cough and wheeze when he held his breath.

"Good," she encouraged. "Try it again. Nice and slow."

He did, and it got easier with each lungful of air. Sara found herself breathing along with him, trying to help him focus and guiding the pace; finally their breathing patterns matched up.

Grissom felt a little better. At least he thought he could hang onto consciousness a while longer. Sara was relieved, too, even though she knew their situation was extremely serious and only getting worse. They were even further away from medical help now, and Grissom's condition was still deteriorating—the bleeding from his leg had been briefly slowed, but was now flowing at a steadier rate.

She immediately moved down to resume putting pressure on his wound. As soon as she did, more shots rang out, narrowly missing her. She had to squeeze in closer to Grissom to stay out of the sniper's path. The recess was really very shallow and small. Grissom was jammed inside the tight shelter, his head and shoulders at an uncomfortable angle against one wall, his legs bent and tangled, the injured one sticking out a bit from the shadow of the alcove.

Realizing that she was leaning some of her weight on Grissom, Sara carefully pushed off him. She had to stay practically on top of him to avoid being in the path of the bullets, but she didn't want to cause him any added pain. "I'm not going to be able to do this," she said, mostly to herself. She still needed to stop Grissom's bleeding, but she couldn't get into the correct position and keep them both protected. She remembered her first aid training and Jim's words from earlier. _Tourniquet!_ she reprimanded herself silently, feeling like an idiot that she hadn't done it sooner.

**To be continued…**


	5. Cold Fear

**A/N: Hi, all! I'm sorry for the long delay in posting this next chapter. It wasn't planned. Let's just call it real life intruding, as it often does. I really appreciate all the reviews, and I hope everyone out there who was waiting for this fic to be updated is still waiting and will be reading this. The other chapters are ready to go, and will be posted much more quickly. Again, I truly thank everyone who has reviewed this story—especially those who have reviewed more than once—and I hope you enjoy the rest of it!**

**Chapter 5: Cold Fear**

_Tourniquet! she reprimanded herself silently, feeling like an idiot that she hadn't done it sooner…_

Sara immediately unbuckled Grissom's belt, and tried to slip it off without rocking him too much. She explained it to him as she went along, although she didn't know if he understood her or not. "I've got to get this off you," she told him. She pulled, and the strip of leather began sliding off, but the metal end got caught on one of his belt loops. Reaching around, underneath him, she got it unstuck and tugged the belt until the rest of it came free.

"Now, I'm gonna put this around your leg and pull it tight," she continued explaining. Positioning the belt around his thigh, above the bullet wound, she slipped the end through the buckle and pulled it until it fit snugly, digging into his skin. She tugged it a little more to be sure and Grissom clenched his eyes shut and tried to stifle a moan; he reached out a hand to Sara.

Feeling his fingers graze her arm, she turned towards him and grasped his outstretched hand. When he felt her skin beneath his, he squeezed her hand hard as she finished cinching the tourniquet into place. She saw the pain on his face and felt tears coming again. "I'm sorry, Grissom," she said, her voice breaking. She swallowed, trying to regain control; she couldn't let herself lose it—not now. "I'm so sorry I keep hurting you, but I have to or…" She left the thought hanging and examined her work, still holding onto his hand.

It was difficult to tell if the tourniquet was successful since the clothing and wrapping surrounding the wound was already saturated in blood, but after staring for long seconds, Sara thought it looked like the bleeding had stopped. _Thank God,_ she thought. She knew that Grissom was still in great danger, but she felt like at least she had done _something_ to help him.

Just as it occurred to her that his hand felt quite chilled in hers, he began to shiver. "Grissom?" she began, watching the spasms wracking his body. "What's wrong?"

He opened his eyes, attempting to focus on her as he spoke. "C…cold," he managed to get out.

_Shock,_ she reminded herself. _His body temperature's dropping._ "Okay…" she said out loud, but she had no idea what she could do. They had no blankets, not even any extra clothing. Sara had already given up her jacket as a makeshift bandage and Grissom was already wearing his. So she did the only thing she could think of. She slipped carefully in behind him so that his head rested against her shoulder, and wrapped her arms around him. She held onto his shivering form and willed her body heat to flow into him. She didn't like feeling him shake so violently, but she was glad to be so close to him. She could feel his chest move in and out with each uneven breath, and she shifted one hand to his neck where she found his weak, thready pulse. _At least he's hanging on…_ she thought. _But for how long?_ The question caused a shiver to cascade through her as well—hers borne by dread instead of physical distress. _He's lost so much blood…_

She realized she was starting to panic, and closed her eyes. Focusing on her breathing, she calmed herself, knowing that if they were going to make it out of there, she would have to remain in control of her roiling emotions. Reluctantly removing one arm from Grissom, she plucked her cell phone off her hip, flicked it open, and pressed one number on her speed dial. After two rings, she said, "Jim, it's me. What's going on out there?"

"Nothing good," he replied grimly. "Guy's still firing off rounds sporadically—mainly in the direction you guys went."

"I noticed."

"We've got a chopper up, searching for the guy, but nothing yet." He paused just for a second, needing to know how Grissom was, but almost afraid to ask. _Sara sounds calm,_ he thought, taking that as a good sign. But before he could voice the question, Sara supplied the answer for him.

"We're not doing too well over here," she began, still sounding eerily composed. "He's really bad, Jim—still bleeding, barely hanging on—and I can't do anything to help him…"

Her voice tightened, and Jim thought she was going to lose it. But he heard her take a ragged breath and continue, "You need to get someone here _now_ to take care of him. I mean _now_, Brass. We're crammed in this little space and I can't do anything to try to stop the bleeding any more. There's just…no room to work and that bastard keeps shooting!"

She finally stopped her panic-driven tirade, and Brass heard her breathing heavily into the receiver. He knew she was quickly losing her grip and if she didn't hold onto sanity and reason, Grissom wouldn't have a chance. "Sara, listen to me now," he told her firmly, although his own heart was beating a mile a minute. "You need to keep it together. Keep calm, keep Grissom calm, and do your best. Help is coming. We're working on another way to get to you—_through_ the building. The owner's on his way with the keys. He'll be here any second."

"Brass…" she began. Her voice was quieter now, the ire and frustration gone, utter despair taking its place.

"What is it, Sara?" he asked gently.

"He's lost so much blood," she said, the words fading to a whisper. "He looks…awful. I'm afraid we…I…" He heard the hitch in her voice, and he could tell her tears were falling now. "We might…lose him, Jim…"

Her voice trailed off and then all he heard were soft sobs. For a moment, Brass was speechless. He'd never really considered the possibility of Grissom dying. Certainly not in a situation like this. CSIs were scientists, not cops. They weren't supposed to be in the line of fire or be killed in the line of duty. _Holly was…_ he reminded himself. He shook his head to rid it of the disturbing memory. _But it's not supposed to happen to Grissom!_ his brain insisted. Sudden anger flooded through him, temporarily blotting out the fear, and his free hand clenched into a tight fist.

"He won't quit, Sara," Brass assured her, his tone clipped and forceful. "He's a fighter, he won't give up, he'll…" The power behind his words whooshed out like the air from a deflating balloon. He took in two full, slow breaths before going on, "You don't let him quit, okay, Sara? Tell him we're all pulling for him… Tell him we need him… Tell him…" Brass paused again, swallowing hard against the emotions threatening to overpower him. He could hear Sara's uneven breathing on the other end, letting him know she was listening. "Tell him if he gives up, I'll personally run over there and kick his ass! The last thing I want is to have to do his job again!" He heard a small chuckle through the phone, and he knew he had gotten through to her.

"Okay, I will. I'll tell him all of that." She was still laughing a bit in spite of herself.

"Good," he replied, a small smile still adorning his face as he forgot their troubles for a couple of seconds. "Hang on a minute, Sara," he said, and she could tell he had covered the mouthpiece and was talking to someone else. "All right, Sara, the paramedics say that the best thing you can do for Gil is to keep him talking. Make sure he's conscious and can understand you. If anything changes, you let us know immediately, okay?"

"I will."

Her voice still held a slight quiver, but Brass felt she'd be able to handle things. "Good girl. Now do me one more favor, okay, kiddo?"

"What's that?"

"You can put the phone down, but please keep me connected. That way if…anything…_does_ happen, you can just yell out to me. You won't have to waste time remembering numbers or pressing buttons. Okay?"

"Sure."

"Good."

She was about to lower the phone, when he spoke again.

"Listen, Sara…" he began. "He can't…don't let him…" he struggled, then finished in a rush, "You just take care of him, all right?"

"Of course I will," she promised.

Jim could tell that she meant it, from the depths of her soul, despite the obvious uncertainty that hung from her words. "It'll just be a few more minutes, I promise," he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "And if it takes any longer than that I'm going to run out there myself, toss Gil over my shoulder, and bring him back to the ambulance, whacked-out shooter be damned!"

"I'm sure you could sell tickets to that," she joked weakly. Brass was trying to remain the sardonic, wry police captain that they all knew and loved, but Sara could tell he was as scared as she was.

"Hey, I could do it," he protested, mock-hurt. "I've been working out, you know."

"Yeah, right."

The very uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by Brass. "Remember what I said, Sara…and keep the phone on."

"I will."

"I'll…see you both soon," he finished awkwardly.

"Okay." She pulled the phone from her ear and put it down carefully without pressing END.

**To be continued…**


	6. Slipping Away

**A/N: Well, here's the next chapter. I know I keep saying it, but I really mean it: thank you SO much for all the wonderful reviews! I'm glad you guys didn't forget about this fic completely. Thanks, as always, to Grissom and DaVinci13 for their friendship and support. You're the best, ladies! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!**

**A/N P.S.: Your idea about Brass overhearing…something…on Sara's cell phone was inspired, Ghibli! Unfortunately, I hadn't gone in that direction. But someone should definitely use that idea in a future fic! I hope you like the way this progresses anyway. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6: Slipping Away**

Sara shifted Grissom against her. She could still feel him shivering uncontrollably, and she felt his chest working to force out each breath. _That's it—hang on__, Grissom, keep fighting._ Moving him carefully so she could see his face, she gently called, "Grissom?" She ran a hand through his hair and over his pale, sweaty face. "Hey, Grissom?" Touching his face again, she was rewarded with a weak moan. Despite a few more attempts, she couldn't get any other reaction out of him.

Sara wasn't satisfied with that. She needed to find out how far gone he was, to see if he was still lucid. "Grissom, talk to me," she persisted, getting louder. "You're not going to do this to me! Not now! Not like this! Come on, _say_ something!" Her anger and frustration were bubbling to the surface, and she had to restrain herself from literally grabbing him and shaking him. She took a breath, regaining some control over her wild emotions, and pleaded gently, "Please, Grissom, say something. Come on, talk to me." Her hope was waning, but she tried one more time, forcing all her concern and caring into the words, "Please, baby, talk to me. _Please…_"

"Sara?" came Grissom's hoarse, barely audible reply.

"Yeah," she said, relieved to hear his voice. "I'm right here."

He slowly opened his eyes and blinked until her face came into focus. "What…?"

"We're still here and that idiot is still shooting at us," she replied by way of an impatient explanation. But then she thought of what he must be going through and her tone softened, "Do you remember what happened?"

His blank look and the shake of his head caused a sharp spike of fear in her stomach. She thought it best to skip the graphic details of what had happened to him. The seconds ticked by in her head, and she couldn't believe the help that Jim had promised wasn't there yet. _How long has it been?_ She wondered, on the verge of complete panic. "How do you feel?" she asked, blindly hoping for anything positive.

He closed his eyes briefly to consider his condition, but Sara misinterpreted it. "Hey, stay with me, Gris," she insisted.

Opening his eyes, he answered her question. "Numb," he mumbled, "and…cold." He shivered more severely against her.

"I know, Grissom, but you've got to hang on." An involuntary grin tugged at her lips as she recalled the words of the police captain. "Brass said if you give up he'd come over here and kick your ass."

Grissom couldn't even manage a semblance of a smile, but he got out, "Not…afraid…of Jim."

"Good," Sara replied, "because I think he was serious."

"Are you…okay?" he asked weakly.

She nodded. "I'll be better when the paramedics finally get here, but yeah, I'm fine. I didn't get…hurt."

"Glad to hear it," he slurred, and Sara was afraid he was slipping away again.

"Grissom?"

"Hm?" he moaned back.

"Hang on, Grissom, hang on."

He tried to fight the pull of the blackness threatening to engulf him, but he couldn't; his eyes closed again.

She jostled him a little as she pleaded, "Grissom! Come on, you've gotta stay with me! Please stay with me. You've gotta hang on." Her voice trailed off, but then she added with hushed distress, "Please hang on, baby."

His eyes fluttered and slowly opened. "Sara…"

She didn't know if it was the term of endearment that had brought him around; she realized she had let the word slip twice, but she didn't care. She was just relieved that he was talking to her.

"I'm right here, Gris," she reassured, meeting his glazed blue eyes. "I'm glad you're still with me. Just keep hanging on." She stroked a hand through his hair again as she held him close. "It'll be all right. It'll be all right."

That phrase kept repeating itself in her head, and she realized she was moving her lips, silently mouthing the words. She decided to say them out loud again, and they became a mantra; she was sure they would be safe if she just kept saying the words over and over. "It'll be all right. It'll be all right…"

Grissom looked at her and nodded. He reached out his hand and she took it and held as tightly as she could. She held onto him as if she was the tether keeping him in this world. She was truly petrified that at any moment he might lose his tenuous hold on consciousness, and never make it back to her.

_Where _were_ those damn paramedics!_ her mind demanded desperately. She couldn't believe help still hadn't arrived yet. She was expecting someone, _anyone_, to crash through the nearest door at any second. So she kept hoping and reciting her—_their_—mantra.

But, suddenly, everything changed. Sara felt Grissom's hand go limp in hers, his whole body slumped, and his eyes slipped shut once again. Panic erupted inside her and she began screaming, "Grissom! Grissom!" She shook him rather roughly and continued shouting, "Grissom! Oh, my God! Grissom!" She tried to check his pulse, but her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't find it

In that same anxious moment, she realized that she could no longer feel him breathing against her. "Oh, God! Grissom!" She lowered him to the ground and continued desperately trying to rouse him; she even put her ear over his mouth, hoping to sense the faintest sign of air moving.

Brass had heard Sara's screams through the open cell phone connection. He was about to run out to the two CSIs in spite of the danger from the sniper, when he heard something else—a cacophony of new sounds—on the other end…

**To be continued…**


	7. No News

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. I hope I didn't leave everyone hanging too long. I really didn't mean to have such an evil cliffhanger ending on the last chapter. It just kind of worked out that way (grins sheepishly) . I hope no one is _too_ mad about how I left chapter 6 hanging. Anyway, here's what happens next. Enjoy everyone! Oh, I just wanted to add: Denese25, it's not awful at all to find it 'refreshing' that Grissom is the injured one this time. Some of us kind of like it that way! It's only fair that he get some comfort, too. For more wonderful and evil Grissom h/c, you should check out the fics by my buds, Grissom (the _other_ Grissom) and DaVinci13! They're great at that stuff! Also, I tend to seriously damage Gris in everything I write, too! So, here we go…**

**Chapter 7: No News**

Sara had been on the verge of losing her last thread of logic and control when, finally, the paramedics had burst through a door and rushed around the corner toward her and Grissom. They reached them, and began immediately working on the still entomologist.

"Hurry! You've got to help him! Sara yelled hysterically. "Do something! He's not breathing!"

The two medics sped around him in a whirlwind—checking vital signs, inserting IVs, tending to his leg, placing a rescue mask over his face and squeezing the bulb to force breath into his lungs.

Before Sara could even react to what was happening, Grissom was lifted onto a gurney and whisked away amid the paramedics' urgent shouts: "Run those IVs wide open!" "We need pressure on that leg!" "We're losing his pulse! Go! Go!"

The other CSI remained there, barely registering the fact that the gunshots had finally stopped. She looked around in a daze, and then glanced down at herself; all she saw was red—the crimson of Grissom's blood covering her clothes and skin. She stared at her hands, saturated with scarlet smears, and she began to shake. Then the tears came, and she lifted her hands to her eyes to try to contain them.

"Sara?" Brass called, jogging towards her. "Sara, are you okay?" He had just gotten off the radio after learning that the police had finally nabbed the sniper, clearing the area.

"You okay, kiddo?" he asked, reaching her. He got no response, and she looked hopeless and lost, so he put his hands on her arms and tried again. "Sara?" he said softly. She still didn't say anything, but he pulled her into a tight embrace and she gave into it, collapsing against him. "It's okay, honey. It's okay," he reassured. "Everything will be fine now."

He thought he felt her shaking her head, not believing his words, but he just kept holding on. She sobbed silently against him until she was spent; he just waited her out, not making a sound, rocking her slightly. When she had calmed down, she pulled away and their gazes met. "He'll be all right, Sara," Brass said, trying to sound confident.

"You…didn't see him," she whispered hoarsely. "He looked…he wasn't breathing, Jim. They rolled him away and…"

"I saw the paramedics working on him," Jim explained. "They were moving really fast, Sara, and they took him to the hospital. I'm sure he's all right. Why don't we head over there and see?"

After a moment of hesitation, Sara nodded.

"Okay. Good. Let's go," Jim said. "They took him to Desert Palm." He helped her up and put his arm around her as they began walking. As they left the alcove, he couldn't help but notice the large smears and puddles of drying redness spread all over the asphalt in the small area. He had already seen the amount of blood covering Sara, and thinking that it had all flowed out of Grissom scared Brass badly; but he tried to think positively as he helped Sara across the parking lot.

They were met at the perimeter of the yellow tape by three worried criminalists rushing towards them.

"What happened? What's going on?" Catherine demanded.

"We heard that an officer was down," Nick put in quickly. "Who was it? What…?" He stopped abruptly as they all noticed Sara's appearance.

"Oh, my God," Catherine gasped. "Sara…"

Warrick silently stepped to Sara's other side, taking her free arm.

"Sara, are you okay?" Nick asked nervously. "What happened?"

She stared blankly, remaining unresponsive.

Catherine and Nick surrounded her, and they all moved together, continuing toward the cars.

"Sara?" Catherine tried again.

"Come on, talk to us," Warrick pleaded. They all couldn't help but stare at the red stickiness all over their friend.

Brass was about to explain the situation, when Sara finally blurted, "It's not my blood."

The other CSIs exchanged puzzled glances as Sara's words slowly sank in.

"Grissom…" Catherine breathed; the way she said his name wasn't quite a question, but her reluctance to believe that _he_ was the victim was obvious.

Brass nodded solemnly.

"Where is he? What happened? Catherine added immediately.

"He's at the hospital," Brass explained. "We're heading there now." He deliberately left out the details of Grissom's condition.

"Well, we're all coming with you," Catherine stated, speaking for the group.

"Sure. He's at Desert Palm. How did you guys hear, anyway?"

"It was all over the police frequency," Nick answered. "But we didn't know _who_ got hurt. We came here as soon as we figured out where everything went down."

"Didn't Ecklie tell you guys?" Brass wondered.

"No," Catherine replied bluntly.

"Well, he knew about it from the beginning. He knew it was Grissom who'd been hit," Jim pointed out. "I would've thought he would have let you guys know."

"Well, he didn't," Catherine said, her ire rising. "I can't believe Ecklie! He's such a…" She left the rest of the sentence hanging, allowing the others to fill in their own colorful phrase. Then she calmed down, the anger draining away, her concern for Grissom filling the space her fury had left.

Warrick had been nodding along with Catherine's tirade. "Let's plot our revenge on Ecklie later, huh?" he suggested. "Right now Gris needs us."

His simple sentiment served to immediately sober the small group and focus them on what needed to be done.

"Right," Brass agreed. "Let's go." He protectively tightened his hold on Sara's shoulders. "You're with me, Sara." As he expected, there was no response from the shell-shocked CSI, but she didn't resist as he kept them moving to his car.

As they drove in silence, getting closer to the hospital, Brass looked over at Sara. She was sitting there silently, staring down at her blood-stained hands as they lay in her lap.

"No news is good news, right, kid?" he said in an overly optimistic tone. Getting nothing from her, he picked up his cell phone and shook it a little, hoping to get her to look his way. "I told them to call me right away if anything happened to Gil, and there's been no calls, so that means he must be okay, right?"

"I hope so," she whispered, her eyes still trained downward.

Brass nodded, and then turned his gaze to the road and drove off.

**To be continued…**


	8. Inching Closer

**A/N: Okay, here's the next chapter. I'm sorry it's so short, but there are three more chapters left, and they are each a bit longer. Thanks once again for all the wonderful reviews and support. I hope the conclusion of this fic lives up to everyone's expectations. It's really so nice to have people out there who specifically look for your fics and enjoy them. So, thanks for that, too!**

**Chapter 8: Inching Closer**

Sara sat in a chair at the foot of Grissom's hospital bed. She had been in his room since they had brought him up from recovery six hours ago. The other CSIs and Brass had come and gone, but Sara had remained, silent, pale, her eyes downcast. Everyone had asked if she was okay, and each time she had just mumbled, "I'm fine." They had left her alone, but couldn't help staring at her strangely as they witnessed the bizarre ritual she was performing.

As the hours had passed, Sara had slowly moved her chair closer and closer to Grissom's bed. When she had first entered the room, she had pulled the chair over near the door, as far away from Grissom as possible, and had sat there.

Every so often, she had shifted the chair a bit closer, until she had reached her current position—about even with the bottom of his bed. Now, she finally lifted her eyes, training her gaze on Grissom's still form.

He hadn't awakened fully since they had released him from the recovery room following the several hours of surgery it had taken to repair the damage to his leg and stop the bleeding. He had needed a blood transfusion, and the doctors had told Sara and the others that if he had gotten to the hospital just five minutes later, he would have died. That news scared Sara beyond belief. She knew Grissom had been in very bad shape, but hearing the doctors actually say the words—_he would have died_—froze Sara to her soul. They hadn't claimed he _could_ have died or that he _might_ have died, but that he _would_ have. The fact that there had been no doubt or question made it worse and much more real.

But now he was there in the bed. He still looked bad—pale and drained, hooked up to tubes and wires, his injured leg immobilized in layers of thick bandages and a brace that extended from his ankle to the top of his thigh. In spite of his appearance, Sara could see his chest rising and falling under the blanket that covered him, and she focused on those rhythmic movements. She thought she saw him stir, so she moved her seat one final time, placing it right at his side. Reaching out and gathering his right hand in both of hers, she was glad to feel him squeeze back weakly.

Long moments stretched by as she sat there, holding his hand. Then, finally, she watched as he moved his head and struggled to open his eyes. After several blinks, he got her into tentative focus. "Sara?" he wondered hoarsely, his voice cracking.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here," she assured him. She stroked his hair, and then ran the backs of her fingers down his face. "Shh, it's okay. You just rest now," she soothed. "Rest." Her tender words and touches lulled him back into a comfortable sleep. After a few minutes, she carefully slipped her hand out of his, stood up, and left the room.

She found Catherine in the hall, just coming in. "Oh, hi," the older woman said with some surprise. "Are you leaving?"

"For a little while, yeah," Sara answered.

"Okay. I'll sit with Gil. How is he?"

"He woke up for a few seconds," Sara explained, obvious relief on her face and in her tone.

"Glad to hear it. That's a good sign," Catherine replied, continuing past the other CSI into the room. She didn't fail to notice that Sara looked happier than she had since the whole ordeal had started. The life was back in her eyes, and that was good to see. "Did you call the nurse?" she asked over her shoulder.

"No, but I'll stop by the nurses' station on my way out and let them know."

"Great."

Sara watched Catherine get settled in the seat she had just vacated. The older woman took Grissom's hand in one of hers and began running the other one gently up and down his arm. It looked like she was talking to him, too, but Sara couldn't make out what she was saying. With a smile, the brunette CSI turned and closed the door behind her.

**To be continued…**


	9. Disturbing Visions

**A/N: Well, here we go with another chapter. All the reviews so far have really made my days and weeks! I hope everyone continues to enjoy this story. Read on…**

**Chapter 9: Disturbing Visions**

Grissom slept through most of the rest of the day and the following night. He woke up briefly the next morning, and they attempted to give him breakfast—real food instead of just the IV. Or at least the best facsimile of 'real food' the hospital dieticians could come up with. He had managed to get down a little bit of toast before the pain pills sent him off into a black sleep again.

It was almost five by the time he freed himself from the drug-induced haze and became really aware of his surroundings. What he saw when his eyes opened and focused was Sara sitting in the chair next to his bed.

"Hey," she greeted when she saw recognition fill his eyes.

"Hey," he echoed, his voice hoarse and cracked.

Sara reached for the cup of water on his bedside tray and offered it to him, guiding the straw to his lips. He lifted his head a little and took several swallows before nodding. "Thanks," he said when she put the cup back in its place.

"You're welcome. How are you feeling?"

"It's hard to describe," he began. He shifted on the bed, wincing at the pain even the slightest movement caused. He made an effort to get more comfortable, but at the moment it was an impossibility. "I've been sleeping most of the time. And when I'm awake…" He trailed off and trained his gaze on the empty wall across the room. "Let's just say that the morphine drip has become a good friend of mine." He attempted a half-hearted grin as he held up the button that released the pain-numbing drugs into his IV line. "But then the morphine puts me to sleep again, and it starts all over."

Sara offered him the cup of water again and he sipped some more. When she put it down, she commented on the covered plate that was also sitting on the tray. "I see they've been trying to feed you," she said.

"Yeah, since breakfast this morning."

"Well, this must be dinner. Should we see what you've got here?"

He gave her a weary, disinterested look, but she lifted the lid anyway and presented the plate to him. The smell did nothing to help make the pale, grayish selection of food seem any more appetizing.

Sara wrinkled her face as she said, "I _think_ it's chicken. Do you want to try some?" She sniffed the dish from closer range, but the aroma just seemed worse.

Grissom saw her reaction and took another look at the monochromatic mass on the plate. "No thanks," he replied with certainty.

"I don't blame you," Sara agreed, replacing the lid soundly and sliding the offering to the far end of the tray. "I promise that I'll try to sneak you in something tomorrow. What would you like?"

"Uh…" He thought about it as he reached up and rubbed at his eyes with one hand.

Sara thought he looked terribly tired, but still so much better than right after surgery. He was pale, his eyes were sunken with dark circles underneath. His color was starting to come back now, though, and he no longer looked like death warmed over. She knew he'd be weak for a while and would probably need physical therapy to help him walk normally again, but he was moving slowly on the road to recovery, and she was more grateful than she had even realized.

It had been much scarier when they had first brought him into the hospital. The doctors didn't have time to explain much to the roomful of anxious CSIs and police officers. They spent quite a while working on Grissom, trying to stabilize him, before they rushed him into surgery. Sara knew that he had stopped breathing, but they had thankfully never lost his pulse.

He had needed oxygen and at least one blood transfusion. Almost all of them had given blood—Catherine, Warrick, Nick, Brass, Greg, David, Doc Robbins, even Hodges had donated. Of course, they had no idea if any of their own contributions were currently running through Grissom's veins. It didn't matter—the doctors and surgeons had saved him and he would be all right. It would just take time.

Sara had been the only one who hadn't donated blood. She felt guilty now, but just hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. She was haunted by the splatters of redness that had been everywhere around them during the sniper attack. The idea of seeing more blood—even her own, even just in a tube or bag disturbed her even more than she was willing to admit. She had no idea what would happen at the next crime scene she had to process—but she couldn't think about that right now.

She had gone back to the previous morning's scene earlier—while Grissom had been in surgery. She couldn't help herself. She hadn't told the others anything—she had just left. The scene was still roped off, but empty. She found out that days had already processed the scene and were just waiting for the clean-up crew.

Stepping under the yellow tape, she walked straight through to the place where they had been trapped against the wall. She saw the pools of blood, and the trail of red leading to the spot. She still couldn't fathom that this was all Grissom's blood. _In another few minutes, he would have bled to death,_ the doctor had told her ominously. Sara felt her stomach heave and turned away, vomiting onto the pavement of the deserted parking lot. Since that moment, she had tried to forget the vision of Grissom's blood splattered everywhere, but every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was red.

"Sara?"

Grissom's voice and his hand on her arm brought her back to the present. She realized that she had 'zoned out,' remembering. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Fine—I'm fine," she replied, still sounding distracted.

"I thought I lost you there for a second."

His words echoed what she had said to Brass as she cradled Grissom in her arms in that little alcove, and she shuddered involuntarily.

He eyed her with concern. "Are you _sure_ you're okay? I don't remember much about…what happened," he said, holding her gaze even though he was tempted to look away. "But I know it must have been hard for you and…"

"I'm fine, Grissom," she stated, cutting him off. "Really." She graced him with a genuine smile, and it made him believe that she was telling the truth. "What were we talking about again? Oh yeah, what kind of food do you want me to bring you tomorrow?"

"Whatever. It doesn't matter."

She gave him a pointed look and he exhaled deeply. "No, honestly—surprise me," he tried again.

"Okay, I'll think of something."

"Thanks, Sara," he said, almost shyly. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem." Smiling again, she took his hand and held it, squeezing gently. She watched as he readjusted his position, drowsiness starting to overcome him. "Tired?" she asked, although the answer was obvious.

"Yeah." He nodded, and his head tilted away from her as he closed his eyes.

"Well, I should head over to the lab. We have some unfinished work from last night. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He mumbled something back that she took as an affirmative answer.

The smile still lighting her face, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek as she tousled his hair. "Sleep well, Grissom," she whispered. Then she stood and left the room.

**To be continued…**


	10. Constant Companion

**A/N: Whoa, I realize it's been longer than usual since I updated this fic. _So_ sorry about that! Just call it 'Real Life' butting in again! I hope everyone was able to catch chapter 9 of this fic, which I had put up on Halloween. I know you all were busy opening your doors to the little ghosts and goblins! I realize that this chapter has an awful lot of exposition in it, and I hope that doesn't turn all my faithful readers off. I had to do it somewhere, and it just ended up in this chapter. So, I hope everyone enjoys this one! Just one more to go…**

**Chapter 10: Constant Companion**

The next day, when Sara returned, she was glad to see Grissom sitting up in his bed looking awake and aware. He had a lot more color in his cheeks, and his eyes looked better—the blue was bright and clear, the haze of pain and drugs almost completely gone. His hair was adorably mussed, and the irrational urge Sara got to run her fingers through the unkempt curls brought a smile to her face. "Well, good morning. You look _so_ much better," she said sincerely.

"Thanks," he replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

Sara's smile was replaced by a frown. "Don't you feel better?"

"I guess I do—a little. The pain's still pretty intense, but I've been trying to lay off the morphine." He indicated the small contraption that looked oddly like a hand-held quiz show buzzer which released the medication into his system. He had wrapped it around the bedrail, out of his immediate reach; if he wanted to use it, it would require much more effort than when he held it in his palm.

"Well, it's good that you're trying to cut down on the medication, Grissom," she said. "But if you really need it, remember that it's okay to hit that little button."

"I know. Thanks, Sara." He gave her a grin—it was weak, but genuine.

Seeing him improving had an incredible effect on Sara's own mood. She felt lighter and truthfully happy for the first time since the attack. She believed that her visions of blood and her aversion to any shade of red could begin to fade away now. "Maybe this will make you feel even better," she suggested, holding up the paper bag she had brought in with her.

He remembered her promise to return with food, and he asked, "What did you bring?"

She smiled as she explained, "I thought we should start out slow." Opening the bag, she pulled out a plastic container of soup and unwrapped a turkey sandwich.

Grissom didn't have much of an appetite, but Sara had gone to a lot of trouble, and the food was _much_ more palatable than what the hospital served. So he tried to eat at least some of it. Sara seemed satisfied with his efforts. She realized he was still suffering from his injury, and didn't force him to finish the meal. She was glad he had eaten any of it at all, and she promised to bring him something else the next day.

They fell into sort of a pattern after that. Sara would come and see Grissom every day, each time sneaking in some 'forbidden' outside delicacy. The other CSIs, Brass, and even Ecklie once for a very brief visit, came to see Grissom as well, but Sara was the constant for him—there without fail. It got to the point where Grissom began to wonder when she had time to sleep—or if she even _was_ sleeping.

She'd come, and they'd talk—about a lot of different things, but never once about the shooting. Sara enjoyed every minute of it, but was afraid she was overdoing things. But Grissom didn't tell her to stop, or to visit less. And he even seemed to be having fun, too. Sara noticed how he would perk up whenever she came by. So she kept coming.

The frequency of Sara's visits continued, until Grissom was released from the hospital—just six days after he had been brought in. They had gotten him up on crutches as soon as they could, but he was still clumsy with them. He hoped with practice he would get better, since the doctor had told him he'd be on the crutches for a good six weeks or so while his leg healed. There was still some pain as well, and he could barely put any weight on his wounded limb before it became unbearable.

When he was told he was being released from the hospital, Grissom wasn't surprised to have Sara volunteer to take him home. She got him settled, and then continued to stop by and see him—nearly every day. She knew he'd be miserable, stuck there at home, not able to go into work until the doctors gave their okay.

So she spent time with him, talked, watched movies, helped him cook, drove him on errands, and sometimes just say in silence with him. It didn't seem to matter whether they spoke or not, they both seemed to enjoy themselves.

When Grissom started his physical therapy, Sara took him to those appointments as well. She also tried to make sure he did the exercises he was supposed to be doing at home.

The two of them fell into a comfortable routine as the weeks stretched on. Sara would fill him in on what was going on at the lab. She brought paperwork that needed his immediate attention, so he could catch up on some of it at home. They didn't discuss the incident at the parking lot very much. Sara could tell that Grissom was still uneasy about that topic.

In the hospital, one of the first things Grissom had asked was if anyone else had been injured. He could see that Sara made it through all night, but he hadn't been certain about the others. She had assured him that no one else had been hurt by the crazed sniper. He had been relieved to hear that, as well as the news that the police had gotten him into custody with no problems.

There hadn't been much for the CSIs to do on the case. Dayshift had collected evidence from the rooftop, but the cops had caught the guy in the act, gun in hand, and he hadn't protested or denied what he had done. It had seemed to be an open-and-shut case, but as Grissom, Sara, and the others knew well—in the crime business things weren't always as they seemed.

One day, after Sara had taken him home from his physical therapy session, he brought up the shooter. Grissom knew that the man, Everett Atkins, had been scheduled to go before the judge at his preliminary hearing the day before.

"So, what happened with Atkins?" he asked with no warning. "I know his prelim was yesterday."

Sara was taken aback for a moment at his unexpected line of questioning. "Oh," she began when she recovered, "yeah, the hearing went off fine. He's being held for trial. I didn't hear about bail. Brass might know—you could give him a call."

"No, that's okay," he responded. "I just wanted to find out if everything went…all right."

"It was fine, Grissom. No surprises," she assured him, meeting his eyes.

For a second, she thought she noticed his gaze drift away, as if he were looking at something far away and distant. But then he came back, shaking off whatever had had him in its grip.

"Good. I mean, I'm glad to hear it," he said. "We knew it was a cut-and-dried case."

"Yeah, pretty routine." She hoped he would change the subject now. Although the evidence was clear and beyond reproach, they both knew deep down that the Atkins situation was anything _but_ routine and simple.

It was true that the man had been caught red-handed, and that police had taken him into custody without incident. But after that, everything about the case was out of the ordinary. They checked Atkins out, and found he had no criminal record. The man had never been in trouble before; there was nothing suspicious in his past—he had never even gotten a parking ticket. Everett Atkins was clean. He apparently lived a law-abiding, quiet existence as a machinist in a small local shop. He was a native of Vegas, and there was nothing in his history that would even begin to suggest why he would pick up a rifle one day and start shooting up an office parking lot filled with police officers, seriously wounding a CSI in the process, and terrorizing the others for nearly thirty minutes.

The cops' interrogation of Atkins didn't help to shed any light on the situation either. The man hardly spoke, and what he did say told them practically nothing. Atkins appeared to have no motive; nothing in his past explained his behavior. He had no family nearby, and very few relatives. He hadn't even come into contact with the LVPD cops or the CSIs before that day. The public defender assigned to Atkins' case was willing to believe that the man had simply cracked one day and began shooting. She was going to plead insanity, and try to get her client locked up in a mental institution rather than a jail. But Brass and the CSIs weren't so easily swayed.

The police captain _knew_ there was something more to the situation. He had even attempted to interrogate the suspect himself, after he'd already been interviewed by other officers. But Brass didn't get anything out of him either. The man just sat there blankly, refusing to say anything beyond the very basics of what had happened.

What Atkins had done was obviously not the random act of a madman. His shots had been deliberate. No one was sure if Grissom had been the sole target, but after the criminalist had gone down, Atkins had done everything he could to prevent help from getting to him. He hadn't shot into the crowd or hit anyone else. It had all been about trapping Grissom and Sara, cutting them off from any assistance. Were Atkins' actions personally directed against Grissom? Were they aimed at law enforcement in general or the CSIs in particular? These were the answers they didn't have, and the ones Jim desperately wanted. And after the other CSIs had gotten over their shock of finding out about Grissom's injury, they all wanted those answers, too.

After releasing a deep sigh, Grissom brought himself back to the present. He hadn't really wanted to dwell on Atkins and his motives, but the thoughts kept forcing themselves back into the corners of his mind. He hobbled to the center of the living room and said, "I'm thinking of painting in here."

Although Sara had hoped for a change of topic, Grissom's statement about redecorating from out of left field caught her off-guard. "What?" was all she could manage.

"This room," he clarified, moving one of his crutches in a sweeping motion. "I'm thinking of changing the color."

"Ah, so you're no longer a fan of penitentiary gray?" she inquired.

"Actually, it's eggshell," he began, a wink in his voice, "but no, I guess I'm not. I'd do the work myself, but I'm going to be stuck on these things for a while longer, so I guess I'll leave it to the pros."

"What color were you thinking of?"

"I'm not sure. Something deeper—like green or blue. Maybe brown?"

_At least he didn't say 'red,'_ she thought with absurd relief; even though she was getting past the horrors of the attack, that particular color would never be quite the same to her again. "Not brown, Grissom," she told him. "You don't want it to be _too_ dark and imposing in here."

"I guess you're right," he agreed. "So—green, then?"

"I think green would be nice," she said with a smile. Truthfully, she would have preferred blue. If it was possible to create paint the same shade as the striking azure of his irises, she'd be the first one on line to buy it. She allowed herself to revel in that vision for a few seconds before looking back into the very eyes that had caused her flight of fancy in the first place. She was about to be a bit bold and ask if he needed help or another opinion, but he unexpectedly beat her to it.

"Would you…uh…" he began uncertainly. "Would you mind helping me pick out the colors?" He was a little surprised at his own courage, but he went with the moment. "I'd really appreciate a second opinion. I've never been very adept at home decorating, as you can probably tell."

"Sure, Gris, I'd be glad to help," she answered, unable to keep a huge grin off her face.

"Thanks, Sara."

"No problem. How about I make us something to eat?"

"Sure."

**To be concluded…**


	11. Unanswered 'Why's'

**A/N: Well, here it is—the final part of "Red." I hope everyone has stuck around to read this. Many great, big 'thank you's' once again to all who have reviewed this fic. You really keep me going with your kind words, and I hope you feel it was worth your time and effort. I realize that this 'ending' isn't _really_ an ending at all. As I was trying to bring this to a conclusion, I realized that I couldn't—at least I couldn't wrap it all up in a pretty little package without going on and on for a while longer. So I decided to leave it rather 'open.' But, never fear, I _am_ working on the sequel, titled "On the Periphery." You've seen DaVinci13 mention it in a few of her reviews, if you read those! Right now, I'm too busy for my liking, so I haven't gotten very far in writing the sequel yet. I also seem to have lost some of my inspiration, but I have ideas and I _will_ work on it, I promise. Anyway, thanks to my great friends and betas/deltas (whatever), Grissom and DaVinci13. You gals are the _best_! And thank you to all the loyal readers who have gone along on another of my twisty, turny, Grissom h/c angstfests! I couldn't do it without you! Enjoy this chapter and stay tuned for "On the Periphery"…**

**Chapter 11: Unanswered 'Why's?'**

Sara knocked on Grissom's door, and waited impatiently. When he didn't answer right away, she knocked again. "Come on, Gris, we're gonna be late!"

The door swung open to reveal Grissom standing unsteadily and looking slightly out of breath. "What's the rush, Sara?" he asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

She just smiled and walked past him into the house. "You don't want to be late on your first day back at work, do you?"

"That's one of the perks of being the boss—I'm allowed to be late. Besides, I won't even be able to go out in the field until my doctor says so. I'm not in such a hurry to get there and be stuck in the lab behind a mound of paperwork."

"Oh, it won't be that bad," she said, trying to cheer him up. "You can process whatever evidence we bring in."

"Thanks."

"Well, it's better than paperwork."

"I guess," he replied quietly.

It was then that Sara really studied him, and noticed how exhausted he looked. She would have thought he'd be happier and more excited to return to the lab—even if was going to be 'chained to his desk' for a while. "Are you okay?" she pressed gently.

"Yes. Why?" His answer was a bit too abrupt.

"I don't know. You look kind of…tired."

"I didn't sleep that well," he began. "I mean, I'm not used to sleeping during the day yet. My internal clock has gotten all off schedule."

She continued sizing him up without offering a response.

"Hey, I thought you said we were running late," he said, trying to distract her. "Just let me get my things and we can go."

She watched him glide smoothly across the room to the coffee table, where he began gathering his briefcase and a bunch of papers. _He really _had _gotten good on those crutches,_ she noticed, _although he'd probably only need to use them for a couple more weeks._

He came back and stood next to her, and Sara accepted that she wasn't going to get any more information about his haggard appearance. So she gave up for now, even though she _knew_ there was more to it, and they headed out the door.

* * *

Grissom's return to work started off pretty quietly. He and Sara entered the crime lab and went to his office to pick up the night's assignment slips. The few occupants that noticed his presence acknowledged it with a nod or a small wave. He tried to look nonchalant about the lack of fuss being made over his return, but Sara could tell he was a little disappointed. All that changed as they arrived at the break room.

They cleared the doorway and were greeted by almost the entire lab who all burst into applause. "Welcome back, Grissom!" was shouted by many voices simultaneously, and the sentiment was also spelled out on a large banner hanging on the cabinets. The graveyard shift members—past and present—plus Brass, Bobby, Hodges, and Archie rushed forward to offer hugs, handshakes, and pats on the back. "Welcome back, man," Warrick said.

"Yeah, glad you're back," Nick echoed.

"It wasn't the same without you, Gris," Greg chimed in.

As the crowd parted, Grissom noticed a large cake on the table. He smiled, remembering what he had once said: _When I leave there won't be a cake in the break room._ And although the confection was a 'welcome back' celebration, not a goodbye token, it was nice to know he had been missed.

"All right, all right," Grissom said, slightly embarrassed at all the attention. The room quieted down as he spoke, and the crowd waited for a speech or whatever he was going to do next. "I want to thank everybody for being here," he began, not quite sure what to say. "I…I wasn't really expecting all this, but…well, I'm glad to see you all and I'm very glad to be back."

Another round of applause and a few shouts filled the air. Then Grissom raised a hand for quiet once again. "Okay, now the cake and celebration are going to have to wait until later, because we all have work to do." He held up the case slips that were in his hand, and, among whiny sounds of disappointment, the room cleared out except for Sara, Greg, and Nick, who was being temporarily assigned to graveyard while Grissom was on desk duty.

Grissom handed out the assignments, and everyone got to work. Sara tried her best to stick close to him all night, just so she could see if he was getting back into the groove, and if he was okay after the scene at his house earlier. She had to leave for a couple of hours to go to a scene with Greg, but she was able to tag along with Grissom the rest of the time.

He was getting through the night, but he often seemed distracted. He'd be working on a piece of evidence, and he would stop and stare off at nothingness for several seconds before shaking his head and getting back to what he had been doing. A couple of times, he 'zoned out' for even longer, and Sara was getting more concerned as the hours wore on. _Maybe it was too soon for him to come back,_ she worried. _Or maybe a full shift was too much for his first night._

Sara got Grissom to take a meal break halfway through shift, but even as they ate, his mind seemed to be elsewhere. And he looked even more ragged than when she had picked him up. Sara just exhaled deeply, and promised herself she'd talk to him later.

* * *

As the sun rose over Las Vegas, and the official clock out time for the graveyard shift drew near, Grissom sat in the lab, a small piece of plastic on the table in front of him. It had come from Nick's crime scene, and Grissom had already examined it for blood and other residue. All he had left to do was fume it for prints. But his mind had become otherwise occupied again; he couldn't seem to control it tonight, and his frustration and impatience were growing. He didn't hear Nick come in and stand next to him, until the younger man put a hand on his shoulder. Grissom nearly jumped out of his seat, which only served to annoy him further.

"Whoa, sorry, Gris," Nick said, grinning. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. That must be some piece of evidence. Did you find anything yet?"

"Uh…yeah," he replied, composing himself. "Positive for blood, positive for explosive residue. I just need to fume it to check on any prints."

"Great, then we can nail the guy," Nick began happily. "That'll make three solved cases in a single shift. I think that may be a new lab record. Quite a first night back, huh, Gris?" He patted his former boss's shoulder, and walked away.

"Yeah," Grissom responded, turning to look after the other CSI. But a shadow still crept over his mind—the specter that had been haunting him all night and for the last six weeks; it was the nagging mystery of the sniper, Everett Atkins. And all the unanswered 'why's' still pecked mercilessly at the edges of Grissom's mind, not letting up, and providing no further solutions. _Why had Atkins shot me? Had I been a true target or just collateral damage?_ As he turned back to the evidence, trying desperately to focus as he prepped it for the fuming tank, he didn't know how much longer he would be able to hold things together.

Sara came in and watched him from the doorway as he shuttled the wheeled chair across the room. He still wore a small brace on his healing leg, but he was getting around pretty well. She saw him place a small item inside the box and turn on the fuming device. He turned away to wait, and caught sight of Sara by the door.

"Hey," she said, smiling to hide her intense study of him.

"Hey," he called back, his tone almost as forced as hers.

"Almost time to get out of here, huh?"

"I guess so," he replied. "I just have to wait for prints on this to give to Nick."

"Okay."

"So, are you all finished up?"

"Yeah," she said, coming into the room and leaning on the counter next to him. "It was the boyfriend. No big surprise there. And did you hear that Greg closed a case from last night, too? That will be three solves in one shift, if Nick's prints pan out." She indicated the fuming box.

"I know, I heard. A possible new lab record."

They exchanged small grins, and it was almost like things were back to normal for a moment. _Almost._

The visible wisps from the super glue were dissipating, and Grissom opened the door and carefully removed the piece of plastic. There was a beautiful, clear thumb print right in the middle.

"Nice, Grissom," Sara commented. "It looks like you haven't lost your touch. Nick will appreciate your work."

"Thanks. Let me go give this to him, then grab some papers from my office, and we can leave."

"No rush. You want me to deliver that to Nick instead? It might be easier."

"I can do it," he insisted. "He's only across the hall."

She watched as he got to his feet and maneuvered on one crutch so he could hold the plastic in his free hand. After a few jerky movements, he eventually moved smoothly across the room and out the door.

"I'll meet you in your office in ten minutes," she called after him; he acknowledged her with a quick nod and continued to find Nick.

* * *

Sara caught up with him as he was arranging folders in his briefcase. There was just a handful of case files piled on his desk that she knew he needed to review. Catherine had done a good job of filling in for him while he was gone; she had even managed to clear out the huge backlog of older files that had been waiting for Grissom's signature. Sara didn't know how she had done it while also fulfilling her own responsibilities, but she was glad that Grissom hadn't had to come back to endless piles of paperwork. She thought he kind of needed to 'ease in' to the job again. Sara would have to remember to thank Catherine, in case Grissom forgot.

"Ready?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he replied absently, and she couldn't help but notice how distracted his still seemed.

They made their way down the hall, Grissom leading the way, and Sara kept staring at his back, wondering just what was bothering him so much. She didn't know if it was the Atkins mess, a case from tonight, or something else entirely. She frowned as a silent voice echoed through her head. _It's his first night back in six weeks. Give him a chance to adjust,_ it said, trying to convince her. As she left the building with Grissom, she found herself hoping that the little voice was right, but she wasn't at all sure that it was…

**Fade Out**


End file.
